


In which Sherlock surprises everyone

by Blackpearl



Series: Scenes from a Stake-Out [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Do Not Take Seriously, Fluff, M/M, Surprises!, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackpearl/pseuds/Blackpearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, Lestrade and other members of the police force are on a stake-out in a house together. What happens when the others find out about Sherlock and John's relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Sherlock surprises everyone

Two days after Mycroft’s visit found the team gathered in the dining room pondering what to do about dinner. So far, they had survived off of take-away, frozen pizza, and Sally Donovan taking pity on everyone else and cooking a curry. At present, one of the other police officers, Thompson, was trying to convince Donovan to cook for them again, but earned a death glare from her when he suggested that his reasoning for her cooking was that she was a woman. After ten minutes of bickering and general indecision, Sherlock shocked everyone with an announcement. 

“I’ll cook dinner.”

His outburst silenced the room immediately, and everyone stared at him. 

“You?” Lestrade said eventually. 

“Yeees…” enunciated Sherlock slowly. 

“The Freak cooks?” Sally’s question was addressed to John, who nodded. 

“Very occasionally. Okay, Sherlock, you can cook. Everyone else, I’ll supervise him.” 

The look of shock on their faces increased even more when Sherlock said, “Come on John, we need to go to the supermarket.” 

John supressed a grin as he and Sherlock grabbed their coats and stepped outside. 

*

They took a little longer than anticipated in the supermarket due to Sherlock’s predilection for looking at various medical supplies and attempting to convince John that he needed everything for some exceptionally vital experiment. John was having none of it, and quickly replaced all the extra items that they didn’t need, although he did make an exception for the bottle of raspberry flavoured lubricant that Sherlock had somehow managed to sneak into the shopping basket without John noticing it. They shared a quick glance at the checkout, a blush rising on John’s cheeks as Sherlock slipped his hand from John’s waist to give his arse a playful squeeze. John was inwardly glad that the girl on the till didn’t say anything. 

By the time they arrived back at the stake-out house, it was half past six and the sun was beginning to set, casting the world into shadow. John quickly went upstairs and stashed their new purchase under the pillows, before joining Sherlock in the kitchen. He had known what Sherlock was going to cook even before they had bought the ingredients, but it was always a nice surprise to see Sherlock with his sleeves rolled up and thoroughly engrossed in chopping tomatoes and mushrooms, while a saucepan of water boiled on the stove. 

John shrugged out of his jacket and tried to ignore the way Sherlock’s shirt was pulled taut over the defined muscles of his back. Watching someone cook should not be so arousing, he silently reminded himself. He busied himself by helping Sherlock prepare some of the food, and then stepped back to watch him work for a while, no longer able to stop himself from admiring his lover’s body. 

“Smells good,” Lestrade said, wandering aimlessly into the kitchen. “Shall I lay the table?”

Sherlock nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration, and John smiled fondly. Lestrade set about gathering placemats, plates, and knives and forks. One by one, the Yarders came into the kitchen to sort out their drinks, some of them hiding their interest in Sherlock’s hitherto unseen cooking abilities more effectively than others. 

Sherlock carried the recently drained saucepan of spaghetti into the dining room and placed it on a mat in the centre of the table. John followed with the cooking pot of mincemeat, tomato puree, sauce and mushrooms and a bottle of wine. 

“I assure you, it’s not poisoned,” Sherlock said as he took his seat. 

“It’s not, I was there the whole time,” added John. 

Lestrade shrugged and dished himself up some spaghetti and mincemeat. John mimicked his actions once he was done, putting food onto both his own and Sherlock’s plates. 

Lestrade began to eat and sounded genuinely surprised when he said, “Sherlock, this is actually really good.”

At that, the other Yarders plated up their own food and tucked in eagerly. John poured himself, Sherlock and Sally Donovan a glass of red wine and tried not to think about how the colour of the deep crimson liquid looked like blood against Sherlock’s lips. 

Everyone else seemed to echo Lestrade’s sentiments that Sherlock was actually a rather good cook. He responded with a modest, “It’s just chemistry.”

“I suppose it’s about time that you became house-trained,” said Sally, but there was a distinct lack of harshness in her voice this time. She was rewarded with one of Sherlock’s rare, genuine smiles. 

* 

By the time all of the food was gone, a lot of the tension that had been in the house had disappeared. John was happy that the Yarders were treating Sherlock less like a freak and more like a normal human being. Apparently, proving that Sherlock could cook had raised everyone’s opinions of him. Underneath the table, Sherlock’s left hand rested on John’s right thigh. John smiled, taking a sip of his wine and resting his hand on top of Sherlock’s.

“It’s your turn to wash up, Thompson,” Lestrade said, collecting some of the plates together and standing up. Thompson sighed pointedly, but said nothing and went into the kitchen to run the hot water. 

Sherlock and John migrated towards the living room and the sofa, which had been generally accepted as theirs. Sherlock lay down with his head in John’s lap, sighing happily as John played absently with his hair. 

“I’m tired,” Sherlock murmured, his voice muffled against John’s lap. 

“Have a quick nap then. I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

“Okay,” agreed Sherlock, humming in pleasure as John re-commenced stroking his hair. 

By the time the washing up was done and everyone else had joined them in the living room, Sherlock was fast asleep.


End file.
